A/N: I enjoyed 'The End', episode 4 of Season 5 I believe, enough to write a fanfic revolving solely on it.

EndVerse, 2014!Dean and 2014!Castiel of course.

Enjoy, lovelies 3

Petals of October

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

-Leonard Cohen

Castiel never questioned Dean. Not once, and not now. He had become obsessed with finding the Colt right after they had settled at the base, and he understood Dean better than anyone, so he let him do what he thought best, even if it was terribly reckless. The first mission for the Colt had been terrifying for the both of them, perhaps because in their little sanctuary, they had forgotten what it was like in the real world. Dean had forgotten how easy it was to get killed, which was odd because before he nearly died on a daily basis before all this.

They had to find what little happiness they could in this new, miserable world.

Dean had his own cabin. Castiel had his. Yet more and more hopeful girls, eager to relieve some stress of this hell, went to Dean's cabin to find him, only to discover his bed to empty. No one asked where he was, or went looking for him, which was probably for the best. They never bothered to look in Castiel's cabin.

Dean had found himself drowning beneath the pressure of what was left to him, of his guilt and responsibility. Castiel became his island.

That night before the first mission was when the pills took their place in Castiel's life. How could he bear it? He had given up everything for this man, and he was still charging recklessly towards death without a single thought of sanity.

So before Dean left for the first but absolutely not the last time, he came to Castiel and told him to hang in there if he died, that they would see one another again and that was no reason to give up on life.

In perhaps the gentlest moment they shared since Sam said yes to Lucifer, Dean brushed his fingertips across Castiel's face, eyes narrowed but lips smiling. Conflicted. Always conflicted.

Castiel did not open his mouth to tell him there was no life outside of Dean, that Castiel was hardly even alive as it was, but with Dean gone, what was left? Nothing.

Instead of saying any of that, which would have not been appropriate in his opinion, Castiel leaned into Dean's touch.

"Be careful," he told him, and Dean was gone.

The cars hadn't even started when Castiel dug out the pain pills that each cabin was required to have. He didn't read the label; what was the point? Enough of his grace was left; he knew he wouldn't die from this. Not yet.

He took the whole bottle.

It became his addiction. When Dean left, he took the pills. As he became more and more human, they affected him in harsher ways. He began to question problems that didn't even exist, to see things that were not there. Dean noticed, but said nothing. His fearless leader understood that when he was gone Cas had a hard time, and he would be lying if he said he was okay away from the one person he trusted.

He killed Demons, Castiel downed pills.

Castiel watched his friend become more and more obsessed with killing his brother, and his heart broke for him. It wasn't right. They didn't deserve to go through this, not at all. What would become of Dean when it was finally over, if it ever was? He had based his life now around protecting these people and trying to free his brother from Lucifer's grip.

Dean would probably die afterwards. He wouldn't want to stick around to see this world rebuild itself, because there was no Sam, and Castiel was hardly himself anymore.

Near the end of the year 2013, they were hardly recognizable to one another. Only beneath all the layers of skin and shame, beneath the armor this world now required them to wear, was the merest hint of what they were. There were still the moments, in between Dean's women and Cas's highs, where they met in Castiel's cabin and stayed the night together.

They didn't need much, just each others company. The silence was so welcomed, so embraced, most of them time they dared not ruin it. When the world outside was so loud with hate and violence and death, these moments were almost needed to get through it all.

Castiel, resting his head on Dean's shoulder, and Dean playing with Castiel's fingers, as if they were a fascinating game that could form a shield between them and reality. That was all he wanted. Just to have these moments where they could pretend there was still any hope for them, a hope for a future beyond any of this.

One day, about halfway through August, Castiel was hiking around, for once entirely sober. Dean was organizing yet another mission for the Colt, locked in his own cabin for once and analyzing certain routes to take. Castiel didn't even bother to tell him what he thought, that the demons were placing false rumors and jerking him around. The news might crush whatever small ounce of hope Dean had left.

He was near the very corner of their fenced in territory, in the woods, when he saw the rose. He would be the first to point out their property was disgusting, filthy, and lacking any form of beauty, but this was all it needed. Maybe it was the stoner coming out in him, but he thought the rose was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, glowing among the dark leaves and near dead grass.

It reminded him of Dean, still standing strong, while everyone else was broken.

'Then I must be around here somewhere,' Cas mused.

His eyes landed on a long dead wildflower of some sort, stretched out in front of the rose's thorns, as if it had died protecting it.

"Seems accurate," he told the flower.

Man, he needed some more pills. His thoughts were too sane.

"What does?"

Castiel hadn't heard Dean approaching, further proving how lost he had become. He usually could hear Dean's heartbeat or simply sense him approaching. An angel losing his mojo was like having your ears stuffed with cotton and someone placing sandbags around your feet. He couldn't fly anymore, or hear what he should have, and was unbearably slow. It was the worst feeling in the world, being near helpless. He still had flashes of the power, but they were merely ghosts of a memory, a brief flex of muscles that humans didn't have. Then it was gone.

Dean understood, of course. Dean always did.

"A rose. Growing among all this. A lot like you Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes, impatient with Cas's hippie talk.

"I just came to ask you your opinion on the formation I have worked out, but I think you're too stoned to know what's going on."

He turned, stomping off. Dean hated his taking pills, and hated how fast he was slipping away. It was entirely his fault, for not saying yes to Michael, for not being there for Sammy.

Castiel wanted to say he was sorry, maybe to hug Dean from behind, to reassure him that he was sober, but as he moved to go after him, the rose's thorns snagged him and sent him falling and his foot twisting against the rocks.

Maybe he and Dean had traded senses, because although Castiel did not make any sound of pain, Dean whipped around as if he had heard everything.

"Cas!" he cried, for a split second becoming his old self. He ran to him, dropping to the ground to untangle his foot.

"Dean. You aren't supposed to grab thorns. You're bleeding."

He shrugged, tugging anyway and ignoring the thin streams of red the dripped to the ground.

"I think you broke it. How the hell do you break your foot on some vines?" Dean sounded angry. At least, angry at the flower more than he was with Cas for being human, for being weak.

"I don't think my bones are very strong," he told him, because what else was there to say? I'm sorry that I have lost almost everything? So had Dean. They only had each other.

"Of course not!" Dean cried angrily, finally tugging him free. "You don't eat anything! You hardly drink, either! It's just you and those stupid pills!"

Castiel said nothing; it was better Dean get his anger out before he unleashed it on someone else, someone who had done nothing wrong.

"Can you walk?" Dean sighed, avoiding Cas's blue eyes.

Castiel stretched his foot out, clenching his teeth at the pain. This was such an unnatural feeling, pain was.

"I don't think so, Dean. Go back to planning the mission. I can crawl back, if nothing else. Or I might just lie out here and enjoy the stars," he smiled at Dean, whose lips twitched with annoyance.

"I liked you better before you were a hippie."

"I liked you better before you shoved that stick up your ass," Castiel retorted.

They both glared at each other for a moment before laughing, feelings unhurt because these words had been said before and the situation had been acknowledged long ago. They had each other, so everything was almost okay.

Dean gathered Castiel in his arms, lifting him up bridal style, which made them laugh harder, though nothing was really funny. Not a single thing.

Especially not when Castiel was lighter than most of the woman Dean had held, or when he walked around shirtless after one of their nights together, he could count his ribs. He was destroying himself, more effectively than Dean was.

At the cabin, Dean sat him on the couch and went for the doctor. He didn't comment on his lightness, or the sharp angels of his bones that weren't present a few months ago.

Castiel had been lying on the couch a good six weeks when Dean told him that he felt that the end was getting closer, and he couldn't wait. He didn't even care whether he was alive or dead at the end of it, as long as Sam was free.

Castiel, in another sober instance, decided now was the time to let Dean know what he meant to him. Grasping his hand, he tugged Dean close to him on the couch.

"Listen, Dean," he whispered, just in case anyone was hanging around outside.

"If there is a single instance or opportunity where you can save Sam, but it means sacrificing us all, I want you to take it. Just let me know, so I know where to lead them where their deaths will be quickest."

"Cas. I couldn't…you're all I've got left on this stupid planet."

Castiel squeezed his hand, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"I mean it, Dean. I will willingly die for your peace of mind. Just give me a look, and you will have your distraction."

Dean gauged his friend's expression, and then leaned so that their foreheads were pressed together. He wasn't sure what else to do. Apologize? Tell him that was exactly what was needed, a distraction? He might be able to live in a world without his brother, or without the only person he ever thought he loved, but if both of them were absent…he would not be able to go on.

So Sam would die after Castiel, and Dean after Sam. It was only right.

The sat together for a long time that night, pressed together in some way, taking comfort in each others company, until Dean left for the mission, and Castiel reached for his pills.

This was what they had become.

At what point he tried to bury his guilt I women, he wasn't sure, but it seemed appropriate. Dean did it, so why couldn't he? Of course, there was the disapproval at first, but Dean cared enough about Cas to let him do whatever he needed to be okay.

He still asked him sometimes, why the pills? Why couldn't they just have each other?

The lame excuses eventually got old, so Castiel sat him down and told him.

What it was like to fly.

"Sometimes," he told him, "me and my brothers would race comets. We didn't need the air, the oxygen. We had our wings and our sky, and each other. Angels aren't known for their sense of humor, but we had our fun sometimes. Particularly when the world was peaceful. The 80's were rather quiet. That was a good year for flying. We had the sky, Dean. And we felt so light. Now I'm trapped under all this weight."

He turned to pick up the bottle of pills he kept close, always.

"These almost make me feel like I'm flying again."

Dean didn't say anything else about them. Let him fly, anything he needed. Anything.

When the 2009 Dean appeared, Castiel felt the end here at last, and so did Dean. The old Dean was so naive, so soft after his life in the old world. What a fool he had been. Soon, they would all be dead, and he wasn't even aware. The old Dean would have fought, because he didn't know what an utter absence of hope was like.

It was near unbearable, enough that he let to sit next to the stupid flower that had him confined to the couch for so long. The rose still was slightly kicking, but the petals were beginning to fall, forming a scarlet pile among the weeds. The stupid flower, telling the future.

Dean had the Colt, and the mission was planned. And they were both going to die.

As they lined up, ready to move into the house so that Dean could kill Lucifer, Dean turned to Cas, mouth forming a rigid line of disapproval. He nodded, and Cas knew. So this was it. If he led them into the house, their deaths would be rather quick, so it would be okay. He just prayed to the long fled angels Dean's would be as well.

Dean would probably like Heaven. Cas thought so, anyway.

So the look was exchanged, and in the one moment where the line moved forward, they kissed. No one saw it, no on heard it, but they shared a single kiss, the last in their mortal lives.

As they parted ways, Dean wished the past version of himself could have understood, could have seen what him and Cas had. But the old Dean hadn't been this in love with Castiel. Not yet, anyway.

He watched Castiel rally them, and then lead them into the door. He couldn't stay around to watch them die, he had his own mission. As he moved around back, however, he heard the screams of pain and torture. One scream, two, three. He recognized them all as people he had made a small, God-forsaken home with. He never heard Castiel's though. He probably died happy.

Dean would too.

Back at the base, in perfect synch with Lucifer breaking Dean's neck, the last petal of the rose fell.